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Poet Among Painters

by Mr. Foxx

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1.
I Can Feel the Daisies Growing Over Me Do you feel this way I don’t feel so safe these days I’ve been around long enough to notice you Why does this feel so strange You have been here before You know this game Do you know my name? I don’t know what I did last night Do you too If you could smile and share a few stories About those nights All my friends are gone these days Some are dead Told a lie so I wouldn’t stay I’m tired today In the end you’ve got no one Save a round Your words are weak No ones left For you
2.
Poet Among Painters Still cut my beer with my breakfast Sold a chair I made from dead wood Adorn the eyes of witness Proclivities come to be numb Bright eyes weighed down by sad fatigue A friend in need is a friend indeed Cut holes in the arms of cathedrals Slit eyes with a weightless confide Look out the coffees hot and then there’s Certain to be time to be lost in Unnecessary for you to go into the details of my fate Ill ask the questions though I’ve got a lot to say that’s not for you I’m through and through Say look at how my feet are brown from playing in the dirt all day I’ll try to smile but I’m hard to look at in the afternoon Or so you would say to me Cracks in my story give me away I’m at a loss for hollow words to say to you Cut fingers from the eyes that feed you Complained attention seekers Burned cherries between our arms And when we awake to the sunlight between us Ill paint it silver for you ought to have some cash to go along the avenue Before the evening comes around again for you
3.
The Sadness Will Last Forever There’s a portraiture about your face Reminds me I used to be such a storyteller But now I’m sitting here wondering/waiting when you’re coming home I used to be bad, but now I’m fine I’m watched over in time Can you hear the whispers? I’m a fool for knowing what you’d say It could only happen this way I can feel the door starting to open My wife will miss me Yellow, I can hear your voice. I’m not gone.
4.
The Cost of Empty Bottles I’m trying something new today I have seen what it takes And maybe I’m reflecting all these things on my friends That’s not what I want to be again Don’t feel guilty I’m a fool for acting out in so many ways But you wouldn’t smile if you had to look back The stories that I can’t recall are more revealing Than anything I’d say or do to you when sober You are my friend in a way You’d say that I’m the worst you’ve met You’ll always see these bloodshot eyes Hiding behind tired lines Don’t smile when you’re nervous It makes me feel subconscious I will tell a joke in poor taste and I will curse too much Here I am causing a scene again Tap the fingers of the keys until they bleed Laughter is poisonous and I am struggling to breathe the air The water’s so salty in my hair You were my friend
5.
Applaud, Friends, the Comedy is Finished I’ve had too much to drink In my pocket I’ve got God And he’s smiling cause he used to be a woman Then it changed his mind And now she is a he And I’m dreaming of a time when my water is engendered And I’m ensnared in my faith There’s no chance to be real I’m walking on glass Without shoes and it shows And I’m trying to be real, but I couldn’t crawl anymore And I’m watching the faces always staring at me And calling their names Asking me if I’ll be back again for our Sundays And I’d rather share a drink with the beach And I look down at my dog
6.
Lavender Lips of Glass Hammers If I rest for a moment near The Equestrian pausing for a liver sausage sandwich in the Mayflower Shoppe, that angel seems to be leading the horse into Bergdorf's and I am naked as a tablecloth, my nerves humming. Close to the fear of war and the stars which have disappeared. I have in my hands only 35c, it's so meaningless to eat! and gusts of water spray over the basins of leaves like the hammers of a glass pianoforte. If I seem to you to have lavender lips under the leaves of the world, I must tighten my belt. It's like a locomotive on the march, the season of distress and clarity My door is open to the evenings of midwinter's lightly falling snow Clasp me in your handkerchief like a tear, trumpet of early afternoon! in the foggy autumn. As they're putting up the Christmas trees on Park Avenue I shall see my daydreams walking by with dogs in blankets, put to some use before all those coloured lights come on! But no more fountains and no more rain, and the stores stay open terribly late.

about

This record is interesting because pieces of it have been written during different times in my life, during which so much has happened to sort of inform my views of a lot of different things, whether that be mental illness, alcoholism, loneliness, religion, or death (and life).

So much of these songs are centered around the anguish of suffering. I have known so many people who are on their own singular journeys carrying weight none will understand, but them.

And this sort of universal suffering is framed in the mind of a protagonist through the context of last words, of final thoughts, of a dissociating person whose life is merely lingering in the world. And these narratives are contextualized by famous last quotes by the likes of John Keats, Van Gogh, Beethoven.

But there is also a deep desire to live, embedded in the sadness. And there is an appreciation for what beauty one can find in solitary moments of contemplation.

As a writer, I have always strived to capture the small moments of intimacy that collectively shape a person's life. I think in these songs, there is a reflection of that.

That understanding is largely shaped by my love of Frank O'Hara's work. He was called the Poet Among Painters, because, as he put it, he was writing poems that only artists cared about. But that wasn't true. His poetry has the air of high-brow sophistication, but is so often demonstrative of universal small acts of love, so often showing the propensity for affection we tend to bury in our day-to-day lives.

He had an extraordinary ability to convey so much love and empathy and the minutiae of mundanity. And that's part of this record's DNA is to (hopefully) capture some of that.

But choose for yourself! Everyone takes their own meaning from these things. Mine comes from a place of empathy rather than any sort of touristy masochism.

Poet Among Painters is also largely inspired by the music and lyricism of Nick Cave, Lucero / Ben Nichols, Jose Gonzales, and Devendra Banhart, each of whose music is deeply impressed on me.

Alright, that's it for me. Have a listen.

B.

credits

released June 19, 2020

Lyrics & Vocals by Brian R. Strauss except where otherwise noted.
Music by Edwin Coronado & Brian Strauss except where otherwise noted.
Mixed & Mastered by Jerik Centeno

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about

Mr. Foxx Chula Vista, California

Brian R. Strauss.

Founder of Foxx Press.
Guitarist and singer for Of Ennui.

I have a hard time sticking to one genre, but it generally boils down to Doom, Ambient, and occasionally some folk.

Ok thanks!

Contact at brian.rstrauss@gmail.com
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